


What We Lived For

by orphan_account



Series: Where we got left to run? [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s only in these moments, the adrenaline after the battle or the haze of the morning, that Stiles is courageous enough to act on what he wants. Scott’s not sure why Stiles avoids it otherwise, but he has his suspicions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Lived For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clavicular](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clavicular/gifts).



> I had a general idea for this fic, but it wouldn't have ever been written if it weren't for Clavicular. She cheerleaded me the whole way through and then beta'd it for me, so it's all for her. <3
> 
> This was originally supposed to be hurt/comfort porn, but it turned into porn and lots of feelings. Oops.
> 
> There are minor consent issues in this fic, so please read the warnings at the end.
> 
> Title from Mumford & Sons' After the Storm.
> 
> (I apologize in advance for all of my comma splices and overuse of italics)

Scott wakes up slowly. His mind is groggy, his limbs a little stiff, skin tender with that feeling you get when you’re coming down with a fever; nearly dying would do that to a person. But he’s used to it by now, and having Stiles’s warm body wrapped around him does something to ease the discomfort.

It takes him a moment to realize what woke him up, when he does he starts to smile. Because Stiles, still sound asleep, is shifting his hips against him, morning wood pressing into Scott’s back.

It’s another thing he’s become accustomed to, waking up this way. It’s nothing new for he and Stiles to have sleepovers, crash together in the same bed, but the werewolf thing added a new layer to it, and the whole sex thing definitely changed the dynamic a bit.

“Stiles, wake up,” he says, squeezing Stiles’s arm where it’s flung over his own hip. Stiles groans and pushes his face further into the pillows, nose pressing against the place where Scott’s neck and shoulder meet.

It sends a shiver down Scott’s spine, and he presses back against Stiles, a grin spreading across his face as he hears Stiles’s heartbeat pick up, a sure sign that he’s awake now. Stiles’s breath quickens, too, then hitches when he realizes that he’s hard, still pushing against Scott. He moves his arm, trailing his fingers across Scott’s stomach, then pressing them into Scott’s hips before continuing his rhythm.

Scott would be lying if he said he didn’t love mornings like these, waking up to Stiles sleepy and horny. Well, Stiles is always horny, always willing for Scott, but it’s only in these moments, in the adrenaline after the battle or the haze of the morning that he’s courageous enough to act on it. Scott’s not sure why Stiles avoids it - always seems to avoid Scott’s glances, only lets his gaze linger on Scott’s face for so long before he looks away, pulls away when their faces get too close, sidesteps every conversation that comes near the topic - but he has his suspicions.

Stiles’s grip on his hip is bruising now, his teeth set into Scott’s shoulder where he had been mouthing and trailing kisses only moments ago. His hand leaves Scott’s hip (and Scott takes a moment to look down at the purple finger prints, relish the sight of them before they fade, like everything else, fleeting, _ephemeral_ ), trails down across his leg before hitching it up for better access. He presses a finger against Scott’s hole where there’s lingering traces of lube from the night before. It’s times like these that he wonders what it’s like for Stiles, to still be stretched open, a little sore hours later, to still feel the ache of sex deep in his muscles for days.

Stiles doesn’t push his finger in, just teases a bit before moving his cock down between Scott’s thighs. He pulls Scott’s leg back down and hooks his arms under Scott’s, digs his fingers into Scott’s shoulders, pressing the fingers of one hand into the fading bite mark. He thrusts a few times, cock dragging across Scott’s balls and then back, catching on his hole when he thrusts forward again. Stiles is kissing at his hairline, teeth scraping at his ear as he pants out hot breaths. Scott shifts back against Stiles, starts to reach down to where his own cock is hard against his stomach, but Stiles moves quickly, catching his hand.

“Not yet,” he says, and Scott can’t help but shiver again. There’s a part of him that wants to push back, to flip Stiles over and pin him down, knows he could, easily. But there’s a larger part of him that needs to sit back, let Stiles have control, especially after a night like last night.

Normally Scott would’ve heard the footsteps on the stairs, the creak of the floorboards in the hallway, would have smelled the cup of coffee. His senses are still a little dampened from last night’s fight, though, and what’s left of them are overwhelmed by the sound of Stiles moaning in his ear, the combined scent of the sweat they’ve worked up between them and their dried come on the sheets.

He doesn’t hear it, though, not until the Sheriff is right outside the door. He has just enough time to still Stiles’s hips and whisper “your dad!” before the Sheriff is knocking, turning the door handle without waiting for an answer. Stiles flails, twisting in the sheets in an attempt to cover up, and falling on the floor beside the bed. His only saving grace is that he’s on the side of the bed opposite the door.

Scott considers, just for a moment, if he should just pretend to be sleeping. But even though the Sheriff might not have werewolf senses to hear his heart rate, he is _the sheriff_. Scott hesitates but sits up anyways to face the Sheriff, who is standing in the doorway, a mug of coffee in one hand, his other planted firmly on his hip. He spares a glance to Stiles, who is still on the floor, before sighing and taking a sip of his coffee.

Stiles sits up, making sure to keep the corner of the blanket pulled over his lap.

"Morning, Dad!" he says, a little too cheerful to be natural, and Scott has to hold back his cringe. "What's the point of knocking if you're just going to open the door?"

"I wasn't aware you had anything to hide," he says, before looking pointedly at where their clothes are still in a pile on the floor. They'd stripped them off last night in a rush of adrenaline and fear boners. At least they're fortunate enough that Scott's too-bloody-to-be-saved t-shirt is lying beneath Stiles's too-dark-to-see-the-blood t-shirt.

The Sheriff glances back up at them, raises an eyebrow. He looks between them before saying, "So, you boys seem to be wearing a few less clothes to bed than usual." Scott can hear Stiles choking and feel his own face heating.

"Dad, can you not?" Stiles says when he gets his breath back, then after a moment, quieter, he says "It was just hot in here last night. We slept in our boxers."

The Sheriff looks a little... is that smugness?, before he asks, "Aren't those your boxers right there?" pointing to where both of their underwear are lying in the corner of the room.

Stiles just covers his face with his hands and lays back down on the floor.

The Sheriff turns back towards the door, but before he goes he says, "I’m going to the grocery store and to pick up Melissa. We’ll be back in an hour for breakfast. Think about whether you have any announcements you'd like to make."

Once he's gone, Scott flops back down on the bed. He's not really embarrassed, though maybe he should be. At least with Allison, her parents never actually caught them naked, though it came close. Maybe he should feel a little bit more embarrassed about his --- _boyfriend? fuck buddy? friend with benefits?_  --- best friend's dad finding them naked in bed together. But they've only become closer and closer in the last few months, more frequent sleepovers, more intimate sleeping positions. If the Sheriff hadn't figured it out before now, Scott seriously doubts whether he actually wants him in office.

Stiles is still on the ground, and Scott can smell the embarrassment still rolling off of him in waves, underneath it still arousal, and... fear?

"Stiles," Scott says, as he let's his leg drop off the side of the bed, nudging Stiles's thigh with his foot.

Stiles grunts under his breath and Scott can see out of the corner of his eye that he's finally removed his hands from his face.

"He just shut the front door, he’s leaving."

"Oh, _now_ you can hear him?" Stiles asks, incredulous, sitting up abruptly.

Scott sighs. "Yes, Stiles, now that I don't have you _panting in my ear_ , I can hear him perfectly fine."

"Hey, now is not the time to start taking Derek Hale Lessons in Snark." Stiles bites out, and it's then that Scott realizes that the fear isn't just leftover adrenaline or tension from his father. Stiles is actually scared of something, and he's trying to mask it with his usual sarcasm and asshole attitude.

Before Scott can say anything, though, Stiles is standing, moving towards the dresser.

Scott sits up, looks at him, puzzled. "You're getting dressed."

"You heard my dad, Scott, your mom will be here in an hour." He says it without emotion, keeping his face turned away from Scott, pretending to preoccupy himself with picking out a pair of boxers.

"Stiles, what's going on?" he asks, turning his body so he's sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Nothing, I just don't want to be late for breakfast." But Scott has known Stiles for years; even if he couldn’t hear his heartbeat, even if Stiles did learn how to lie to werewolves long ago, he would still know he's lying, can always tell.

Stiles is trying to put the boxers on now, but Scott  leans forward, grabs his hand and pulls Stiles towards him.

"Scott we don't have time for this, I need to get dressed," Stiles says, but his body betrays him, letting go of the boxers and moving closer to Scott, standing right between his knees.

Scott looks up at him, drops Stiles's hand and places both of his own on Stiles's hips, trailing his fingers along his sides. It makes Stiles shiver, his eyes closing and his nostrils flaring slightly.

"Stiles, tell me what's wrong." His voice is much lower now than it was before, the closeness between them making anything more than a whisper unnecessary. But Stiles just shakes his head, doesn't move or speak. So Scott figures he might as well ask, he has nothing to lose (everything to lose, _everything_ , but he knows that if one thing will always be true it's him and Stiles, _Scott & Stiles_). "Is this about what your dad said?"

He knows he's right by the way Stiles's pulse jumps just a bit, even though he's trying hard to keep it steady, by the way he takes a deep breath before opening his eyes. He's looking down at Scott now, tries to quirk a smile but for once it falls a little flat.

"What, about the clothes thing? Nah, dude, it's not a big deal. You're my best friend, I'm sure he'll get over it." He knows Stiles is lying again, talking around the question. Instead of calling him on it though, he goes a different route.

Scott’s face is center with Stiles's stomach at this height, so he leans forward, trails his lips along the lean muscles of it. He starts kissing his way down, scraping his teeth, and when he glances up, there's a question in Stiles's eyes, barely masked by the lust that’s there, too.

"Am I?" He asks, not breaking eye contact.

Stiles takes a second to realize Scott asks a question, when he does, he shakes his head slightly, asks, "Wh- what?" stuttering out the word as Scott nips along his happy trail.

When Stiles's eyes go out of focus again, Scott wraps his arm around Stiles, turning and flipping them, cradling his head on the way down so Stiles's back hits the mattress softly.

He straddles Stiles's legs then, leaning down to suck a bruise into his collarbone. He's always fascinated to watch it form, to smell the blood rising to the surface as he sucks. He can feel Stiles's hard cock poking against his own stomach, but he ignores it for now, choosing instead to lace one hand through Stiles’s hair and tug a bit, ducking down to bite at Stiles’s exposed throat.

He pulls away for just long enough to say, " _Am I_  your best friend?" before scraping his teeth back down to Stiles's collarbone and latching on again.

He can hear Stiles's pulse quickening, his breathing picking up and his chest rising and falling faster than before. Stiles puts a hand on Scott's cheek, pulls his face up so he can look him in the eyes, before saying, "Yeah, yeah, of course you're my best friend."

Scott knows he means it, but he knows that this is just the tip of the iceberg. Stiles is intentionally not talking about it, is intentionally only answering Scott's direct questions and talking around them otherwise. Scott is fully aware of what's going on, but so is Stiles.

So instead of leaning forward and kissing Stiles like he normally would, he ducks his head out of Stiles's reach and moves down the bed, until his head is even with Stiles's waist.

He hovers around Stiles's hips for a moment, kissing and licking at the sharp bones there, the thin skin of his pelvis. When he looks back up at Stiles, he's looking straight back, pupils blown wide. Scott doesn't move for a moment more, lets his hot breath brush over Stiles's cock and watches as Stiles's chest and cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red.

Scott can tell that Stiles wants to look away, to break the intimacy that isn't so easy when they're wide awake. As he goes to close his eyes, Scott asks, "Is that all that I am?"

Scott can hear Stiles's breath hitch as his eyes shoot back open, but he only makes eye contact with Scott for a moment. He looks away, just slightly to the left of Scott's eyes, and if Scott wasn't so close he might think Stiles was actually looking directly at him. But he's not, it's just another way to _avoid avoid avoid._

If there had been any doubt in his mind before, now he's sure that Stiles knows what he's doing, is dancing around him.

Stiles tries to smile again, and this one looks a bit more genuine, but Scott knows better.

"Of course not, Scotty, you're my brother." Stiles finally answers, just a little bit breathless. He sounds like he might be trying to joke, as the quirk of his lips my suggest, but his voice is lower than it was before, aroused and _sincere_.

It punches Scott in the chest, because they both might be playing right now, but it's not a game for either of them, it’s far more than that.

He decides to drop the topic for the moment, too overwhelmed with emotions, so he leans down, licks at the tip of Stiles's cock where precome is slowly dribbling out. Stiles shuts his eyes again now, lets his head fall back on the pillow. He threads his fingers through Scott's hair, and as Scott licks a stripe from tip to base and back, he can feel the tension leak out of Stiles's body. Scott gets his mouth around the head, sucks slowly and then takes Stiles in fully. He can feel how Stiles is holding himself less stiffly now, is less unsure, tugging at Scott's hair, his hips moving in small circles. They're slowly working their way back to that easily familiar place they're so used to, where Stiles takes control, runs the show, gives Scott what he wants, what he _needs._

But Scott doesn't want that. Maybe an hour ago he did, last night too, every other night and morning spent together up until now. He always let Stiles take charge, set the pace, let Stiles fuck him into the mattress when it was what they both needed. But today it's different.

He pulls off of Stiles's cock, leaving it slick with spit. Stiles drops his hand from Scott's hair easily enough as Scott sits up. He can tell Stiles knows where this is going as he moves back onto his knees, and Stiles nods and sits up in the bed. He props himself up against the pillows before reaching forward to guide Scott by his hips.

Scott obliges, seats himself on Stiles's lap. Stiles is still avoiding eye contact, grabbing the bottle of lube kept at the headboard and using it as a distraction now. He coats two fingers with it, warms the lube between them before reaching behind Scott to tease at his rim. Stiles tries to bury his face in Scott's shoulder, tries to kiss and bite at his neck, but Scott grabs his hair, pulls his head back a few inches.

He says Stiles's name, because even now he's avoiding Scott's eyes, staring fixedly at his neck.

But when Stiles finally looks up at him, his eyes are full of everything he’s been avoiding saying. Scott leans down to kiss him for the first time this morning.

The kiss is tender, stays that way even as they’re kissing deeper, Stiles pushing his fingers into Scott, stretching him open. He works slowly, but it's not long before Scott is pressing back on his fingers. He wants to come so badly, has been hard since this morning and still hasn't had any release, has barely had any contact but the brief brushes of fabric. His cock is nearly aching, leaking precome by the time Stiles pulls his fingers out. Stiles goes to grab more lube, but Scott's too ready, just wants to get on with it, so he just lines Stiles's cock up with his ass. Stiles foregoes the lube then, grips Scott's hip with one hand, hooking the other under Scott's arm and gripping his shoulder. Scott sinks down onto Stiles's cock slowly, taking his time. It's a hot, aching stretch, just barely on the pleasure side of pain without enough lube.

He can feel how Stiles wants to thrust up, but he holds his thighs in place with his own, one hand on his waist.

Stiles hasn't looked away from him since they kissed, such a contrast to earlier when he wouldn't even make eye contact. When Scott is fully seated on his cock, he holds him there, doesn't let Stiles move at all.

He waits for Stiles's breath to steady, his legs to stop shaking with the desire to thrust, before gripping Stiles firmly by the back of the neck and pulling him in. Their lips crash together, more frantic than before but just as sweet, just as intimate. When Scott pulls away, he holds Stiles's face there, inches away from his own.

Stiles's eyes are closed now, but he opens them as Scott says his name.

"We're more than friends, Stiles, more than brothers."

Stiles closes his eyes again, but this time he leans forward and kisses Scott. It's hot and wet and Scott finds himself moaning into it.

He lets Stiles's thighs go, lets his hips rock up as he comes down to meet every thrust. Their pace is fast but not frantic, Stiles's fingers digging into Scott's hip again, a mirror of what he was doing just an hour ago, but this time the bruises he's leaving behind  don’t feel so symbolic.

Scott pulls away from their kiss to breathe, bites at Stiles's lip and Stiles whines and thrusts up even harder. Their rhythm is faltering now, and they're no longer kissing so much as sharing breath. Scott pushes Stiles back against the pillows though, makes him stretch his legs out, and there's no more leverage for him to thrust up. But Scott is leaning back, both hands on Stiles's knees and he feels so so good. It's always been good with Stiles, but never this intimate, never an ache this deep.

Stiles tries to steady him with a hand on his hip, but he doesn't really need it, if he needed to he could ride Stiles like this for hours, but it'll only take minutes.

He realizes after a moment that he's had his eyes closed, opens them when he feels Stiles's hand on his cock for the first time that morning. Stiles is staring at him, eyes flicking between Scott’s face and chest and cock with want and lust and _love._  It's that combined with the three pumps of his fist that has him coming, choking out Stiles's name.

Stiles strokes him through it and Scott slumps forward.

He could pull off now, suck Stiles off like he normally does, let him come in his mouth or over his fist, but he stays. He scrapes his teeth against Stiles's neck and when he sets his teeth into his shoulder, biting down, not hard, but just enough, he feels Stiles thrust up, coming inside of him.

He doesn't move even then, stays where he's at with his body draped over Stiles's and mouths across his throat, his collarbone, where he's sticky with sweat. It's salty and _Stiles_ , and he just keeps licking along Stiles's throat and jaw as Stiles comes down, breath finally evening back out.

"Dude, that was awesome." Stiles says, because _of course he does_.

Scott pushes up, brackets Stiles's head with his arms and grins down at him before kissing him. He can taste more sweat where it's beaded above his lip, but ignores it and keeps kissing him for a moment, before pulling away and rolling off him, finally. He'd stay if he could, but Stiles is only human, can only hold a werewolf's weight for so long.

After a second, Stiles starts laughing, and Scott looks at him, questioning.

"What?" he asks, because, seriously, that was great, what could Stiles possibly be laughing about?

"If I'd known it'd be like that I'd have talked about my feelings sooner.

Scott props himself up on his elbows and looks at Stiles, eyebrow raised. "You do realize you _didn'tactually_  talk about your feelings? I'm pretty sure I did most of the talking."

Scott can see a blush start rising in Stiles's cheeks, barely distinguishable from the flush still there from the exertion of sex.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, buddy," Stiles says, leaning up to kiss Scott, and Scott kisses him back, slow and lazy, still sweet.

Stiles pulls away and smirks, starts to roll out of bed but Scott catches him with a hand on his shoulder. He _did not_  just do all that work to still not talk about it.

"Stiles," he says, voice serious, "we _are_ more than friends, you know that right?" He tries to keep his face as open and as earnest as possible, wants Stiles to know they can talk about this, it shouldn't be this hard, _why is it so hard_ , "Why is it so hard?"

Stiles laughs, "Was that a boner joke dude? Because I have to say--"

"Stiles!" Scott cuts him off, and Stiles's face falls a bit. Scott can't help but feel bad, so he reaches forward, pulls Stiles in again and kisses him. It's brief, but he can feel the smile returning to Stiles's face before it's over. He doesn't let him move too far away this time, though, doesn't let him break eye contact. "Why is it so hard for us to talk about this?"

Stiles sighs, and glances away, but Scott turns his face so he's forced to look at him again.

"I just don't want things to change, okay! We were happy last year and then I dragged you out to the forest and everything changed, and it's only gotten worse since the Alpha pack came. I just... I don't want things to change any more than they already have."

Scott smiles, because it's _just like Stiles_  to worry over absolutely nothing.

"Dude don't laugh at me, I just bared my heart and soul for you!"

Scott leans in and kisses him again, but when he pulls away Stiles isn't looking at him again.

" _Dude_ ," he says, only a little sarcastically, "It can only get better from here right?"

Stiles looks at him, and his eyes are so hopeful that Scott can't help but smile.

"Besides, I don't think things will change much between us."

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, they've both showered (not together, because apparently the Sheriff and Melissa have been home for forty-five minutes and neither of them even realized it until Stiles tried to leave his bedroom naked), and are fully clothed. Scott's wearing Stiles's clothes, his own from last night not worth saving.

They've been standing in front of Stiles's bedroom door for five minutes already, caught up trading kisses, but Stiles pulls away when he hears the Sheriff yell for them.

He opens the door, but turns to look at Scott before they head out. His pulse has spiked again, breath quickened just enough to be noticeable. It's nerves, Scott realizes.

"What?"

"That announcement my dad asked about --- what do we tell them? Are we... boyfriends?"

Scott grins, "I think we're more than that."

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Consent is neither explicitly asked for nor is it explicitly stated anywhere in this fic. However, both participants are consenting.  
> One character uses sex to attempt to manipulate the other character into talking about emotions, though character B is aware that this is what is happening.  
> Both characters are underage (16 or 17) in this fic.  
> There are mentions/implications of pseudo-incest.  
> One character comes inside the other character without pre-negotiation.
> 
> (If I missed anything please let me know!)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> You can find me as scootiemccutey on tumblr


End file.
